


restless

by impossiblepluto



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:07:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28704891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblepluto/pseuds/impossiblepluto
Summary: Mac is sick and having a hard time resting.Tumblr prompt: running fingers through sweaty hair.
Relationships: Jack Dalton & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 104





	restless

**Author's Note:**

> I've been home sick this week and decided that it's probably about time to work on some of those fever prompts I got last summer since I apparently have a tough time just resting too. Thanks lord-owlsnake for the prompt and project7723 for the spark. Blame any wonkiness, typos, or too many, too indulgent cuddles on the 'rona.

Jack stretches. The leather couch crinkling under his head. Frowning, he listens to the quiet of the house. Too quiet.

And something definitely woke him.

Not something to be  _ alarmed _ about, he would have woken more forcefully if he needed to be alert and on guard, but something that his brain told him he needs to sit up and pay attention to. He waits. Ears attune. He’s pretty sure he knows what woke him. Or rather who. He's just not sure why.

Even when their partnership was in its infancy - long before it was forged in fire; way before sticking around was an actual thought in his brain and not a subconscious, uncomfortable ache that going home without Mac was wrong - he could still read Mac like a book. Knew his moods, when something was on his mind, if something was bothering him. And would wake in an instant if he thought Mac needed something. Needed him.

He claimed in those early days that the kid’s insomnia kept him awake because he could hear him tossing and turning on the upper bunk. That he was thinking too loud. 

Jack could give the bunk a little shudder and wake the kid from an impending nightmare because he could hear the hitch in his breath before it hit. 

And now, years later and even a room away, he can still pick out that too familiar gasp that warns when the memories are too close and fodder for nightmares.

He doesn’t hear that. He's pretty sure that's not what woke him. Jack raises an eyebrow, debating his options.

Odds are good that the noise came from Mac answering the call of nature or discovering the bottle of water Jack left on the nightstand, and maybe he was able to drift off to sleep after taking care of his intake and output needs, which is why Jack hasn’t heard a noise again. 

Getting up and doing a patrol through the house, just to make sure the noise wasn't something else, is definitely going to wake Mac. If it was Mac, no way he’s back under deep enough yet, and Jack sure doesn’t want to wake him. Not after the struggle of getting him to sleep.

But maybe he’s still awake. Maybe he needs something. Jack strains, listening in the darkness. 

Maybe he's over thinking it.

There’s a rattle and a soft metallic clang followed by a raspy, muffled “Shush!’ that has Jack off the couch and halfway down the hall in a breath. A soft light shines from underneath Mac’s bedroom door. 

A resonant plunk of metal against wood and another croaky hush.

Jack almost smiles as he taps on the door. While he’s not exactly sure what he’s going to find on the other side of the door, he can make an educated guess. 

The rustle of movement inside freezes. 

“Mac?” He calls softly through the door.

“Uh,” sniff, “yeah?” 

“Can I come in?”

“Sure.”

Jack eases the door open. The only light is from the desk where Mac is standing. The top drawer pulled completely out, resting empty in Mac's hands, and the contents dumped across the usual organized chaos of the desktop. Wires and filaments scattered. Piles of paper litter the floor. 

“Hey, Jack,” Mac looks up with glassy, fever bright eyes and a sheepish smile.

“Hey, buddy," Jack quickly scans Mac "Whatcha up to?” 

“Um,” Mac coughs into his elbow. “Been meaning to clean out this drawer. It’s a mess.”

Jack swallows back a snort. That’s almost a new one. He rubs the back of his neck as he steps further into the room, nodding contemplatively. “Okay, okay. You sure now is the best time to be workin’ on that?”

Mac shrugs, rubbing at his chest that he's been complaining feels tight. “It’s been bugging me.”

“Yeah, no, I get that, but I’m thinking it’s about two in the morning and maybe you should try to get some sleep. Oh, easy there,” Jack steps up, snagging the empty drawer from Mac's hands before he drops it, setting on the floor at their feet.

“Can’t sleep,” Mac sighs and a coughing jag erupts from deep in his chest. 

Jack grabs the water bottle he placed on Mac's nightstand before returning to his side. Rubbing his hand against Mac’s back until the spasms of his chest slow.

“Thanks,” Mac murmurs, accepting the water and taking a small, testing sip. And then another, before he drinks deeply. His eyes slip closed as Jack’s cool hand comes to rest on his forehead. 

Jack winces as he brushes the sweaty fringe of hair away from feverish flesh. “I think your fever’s up again,” he murmurs. Damn. He was hoping Mac had shaken this. 

Bright pink splotches flame on Mac’s cheeks. His face otherwise translucently pale. He nods miserably at Jack’s assessment. 

“Did you take anything recently?”

“Not since… before,” Mac gestures weakly, turning his attention back to the objects on his desk. He picks up a stray wire, twirling it hypnotically between his fingers, before picking up another wire and then a third.

“How about we leave this for now,” Jack says, covering Mac’s twitching fingers with his own. 

“But it’s a mess," Mac looks up, biting his lip in concern.

“It’ll keep,” Jack says with a small smile. “I promise.”

“I’ve been meaning to go through it,” Mac says earnestly.

“Yeah, and you will. Just not right now, bud."

"I shouldn't leave it a mess."

"Your house. Your mess. It'll be okay."

Mac sighs, eyeing Jack with skepticism.

"If anyone has a problem with it, I'll tell them it was me."

Mac shakes his head, squinting and scrubbing his face. "That's dumb."

"You know what's dumb? Being up trying to clean out a junk drawer that you've had for years when you've got a fever. You should go back to bed. Aren’t you tired?”

“I’m…” Mac shrugs. “I’m fatigued.”

“Okay,” Jack chuckles at the distinction.

“No, like… I’m fatigued but I’m not tired. I can’t sleep anymore,” he coughs again and kneads at his chest. 

“Still don’t think cleaning out that drawer is the best use of your time, or the little bit of energy you’ve managed to store up right now,” Jack gently guides him away from the desk. “Come on.”

“I don’t want to lay down," Mac resists, pushing back against Jack's hands.

Jack’s not surprised. Mac’s so reluctant to let himself slow down, even when he’s sick. Always needing to be going, doing something. Always needing to be useful.

“How about the couch? We can watch a movie.”

Mac shrugs, clearly not enthused at the idea, but, probably knowing Jack’s not going to give up, and that he can out-stubborn him, especially when he’s sick, he acquiesces, allowing Jack to steer him into the living room. He drops heavily onto the couch, his head propped up on the arm rest.

Jack refills Mac’s water, and grabs a cup of juice and a few other supplies before returning to the living room.

“Hey,” Jack taps Mac’s bottom lip with the thermometer. “Open up.”

Mac’s noses wrinkles in annoyance but parts his lips enough for Jack to slip the thermometer under his tongue. He frowns up at Jack who barely resists the urge to smooth a hand through Mac’s sleep mussed, cowlicked hair again. Only saved from giving in to that urge by the beep of the probe and Mac eagerly spitting it out. 

“Oof, okay,” Jack opens the blister package of cold medicine. “This has something for your cough and a fever reducer in it. Do you have a headache?”

“Sinus pressure,” Mac pushes lightly against his cheek bones, before accepting the meds Jack holds out to him and swallowing them with a gulp of juice, handing back the glass.  


"Take a couple more sips of that for me," Jack instructs. Mac rolls his eyes but obeys, and allows Jack to tuck a blanket around him.

Jack settles on the opposite side of the couch, as Mac vetoes selection after selection until he lands an old familiar comedy from the nineties. The opening credits play and Jack sinks deeper into his seat, hoping Mac will let himself be lulled by the familiar music and laugh track. 

But after a moment, and perhaps in an effort to ignore the siren-call of sleep, Mac sits up, canting his head. He reaches forward, grabbing a screw from the toolbox on the makeshift coffee table. Leaning back, he rolls it between his fingers. 

Jack sighs, trying to ignore it. Hoping it’ll be a soothing fidget toy and not turn into a project. 

After a few minutes, he loses interest in the screw and leans forward, plopping it into one of the small, divided, empty compartments in the shelf of the toolback. He stares at it. Hard. Then picks up a washer, walking it between his fingers and dropping it into a different nook. 

The toolbox rattles as Mac picks up a handful of miscellaneous nuts and bolts, organizing them in his palm, and dropping them one by one into their newly assigned cubbyhole. 

Before Mac can grab up another handful of screws, Jack intervenes. 

“Alright, alright, hey, hey,” Jack says, laying his hand on Mac’s warm forearm. Fever bright blue eyes look up at him in surprise. “Hi. What are you doing?”

“They’re all,” Mac waves the fingers of the hand not caught by Jack. “Jumbled.”

“Kind of like your brain at the moment.” 

Mac frowns. “I’m not-”

“Nah, come on, dude. I know you’re not sleepy, but let’s just rest now.” Jack tugs at Mac’s arm until he relents and scoots closer. He knows if he can just get Mac to settle, he’ll doze off. It’s just a matter of getting him feeling comfortable and safe enough to do so. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Just trust me,” Jack eases Mac back to recline against his chest. “Lay back. There ya go.” He shushes Mac’s dull protests. Circling an arm around to keep a firm hand pressed against Mac’s chest and prevent him from moving when he attempts to rise. 

“Jack,” Mac whines, his complaint cuts off with a soft cough. Jack rubs soothing circles across his chest. He can feel Mac’s heart hammer under his hand. 

“Stop squirming. Just rest,” Jack murmurs. His other hand reaching up, running his fingers through Mac’s sweaty hair. 

Keeping his movements slow and rhythmic,  Jack is beginning to think Mac is going to win this round when his wriggling begins slowing. 

"Jack?"

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"You don't- you don't have to do this."

"Oh." Jack's hand in Mac's long hair stills, and he can almost hear Mac mewl at the loss of sensation. But he'd never allow himself to be that vulnerable, and somehow after all these years,  he still doesn't quite believe he's deserving of comfort. "Do you want me to stop?" If Mac says the words though, Jack will release him.

"Well... no, but-"

"Then we're good," Jack begins carding his hair again.

"But-"

"It's okay, Mac," Jack promises. "We're good. I've got you."

Mac shifts slightly, looking up at Jack.

"I've got you," he repeats. 

He can feel the tension leach from Mac, slowly relaxing under Jack's hands and his promise. After another minute, h is breathing deepens, punctuated by a light, congested snore. 

Jack waits a minute, making sure he’s not being played before turning down the volume of the TV. Craning his neck, and softly smiling down at his sleeping sick kid, Jack continues soothing him with his comforting touch. 


End file.
